I find that my happiness is based less on who I am and more on who I was. As I get further from the past I feel dissatisfied with my future.
My future is full of love and laughter but I dread it every step of the way. As the things I treasure spiral into oblivion I feel crushed.
Anxiety about my future cripples me. “Cold feet,” I suppose. I’m not where I thought I would be. I’m in a better place.
I made these tweets this morning and I could have gone on, but I decided to use my blog before I got ready to get my windshield replaced. I’ve come to the realization that my life is nowhere near what I thought it would be. Then again, I didn’t necessarily have very high hopes for my own future. I never saw myself as a writer. I never saw myself as married. I knew I wasn’t going to have children. Hell, I’m surprised I even finished college. You could say that my expectations for my own life weren’t very high.
As I think about my life now, I realize that my expectations haven’t risen much. My anxiety, on the other hand, has multiplied. Part of me feels as if it’s leftover from the traumas that I’ve happened to experience through random happenstance. My anxiety has caused me to separate myself from all the things I love. I withdraw from others and find excuses, reasonable and logical excuses, to exclude myself. I feel lonely even though I’m not alone anymore. I don’t pretend to understand it either.